Remembering is Overrated
by angelinconflict
Summary: In episode 2 of season 2 of WRE, Castiel remembers the crucial moment that changed everything; meanwhile, Dean and Sam learn just how far off the reservation the rogue hunters have gone, and what Bobby suggests they do about it.


**WRE Series 2, Part 8**

The Garden of Eden was where all angels met and meetings were held with all garrisons. Joshua was the mouthpiece of their father and was the one angel to call each of the meetings due to their father's instructions. Trees lined a pathway of shiny multicolored stones and all the trees bore a different type of fruit—apples, pears, peaches, star fruit, plums, coconuts and still more. In addition to those trees, there were berry bushes, exotic plants, and vegetable patches. However, in the very center of the Garden was a very special tree, a tree that changed the very fate of all humans and animals on Earth. This was the tree of life, the tree of knowledge, the tree that bore apples so red and so delicious they sparked desire not only in the humans that had first eaten them but in the angels that were forced to pass by.

Balthazar and Castiel had been summoned to a meeting with Joshua, and Castiel insisted they take the long way around in order to avoid the awe-inspiring, potentially grace threatening tree.

"Which would you prefer?" Balthazar asked once the two angels had reached the meeting place Joshua assigned, which just happened to be in a clearing surrounded by blueberry bushes with vines hanging lazily on either side.

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it, Cassie. Joshua specifically stated that God would be sending a host of angels to fight the big fight down below. I'm just wondering if you preferred the female or the male vessel?"

"That is not up to us, Balthazar, and for the last time, my name is Castiel."

"Sure, sure, Cassie."

"Shush," demanded Castiel.

Joshua had arrived and addressed the two angels, eyeing them both with an inquisitive stare.

"So, I was thinking, I'd like to choose a male vessel," Balthazar spoke first, pinning Joshua's gaze, challenging it. "I've heard they're stronger than the females."

Joshua eyed Balthazar then Castiel before nodding. "I will consider that, but unfortunately you have not been called to address the situation on Earth; you two will be a part of the garrison we are sending to retrieve a foolish boy."

Castiel and Balthazar exchanged glances. "A _human_… boy?" Castiel spoke.

"Are you kidding?" Balthazar laughed, "That's child's play! We want a real assignment! We want to get down and dirty with the demons, maybe even take on Lilith's lackeys with the rest of the angel population."

"Silence, Balthazar," Joshua snapped.

The rebellious angel pretended to zip up a pair of lips and throw away an imaginary key. Castiel's eyes rolled upward in irritation before asking Joshua "Who is this foolish boy?"

Joshua's demeanour was grim to match the answer. "His name is Dean Winchester."

"No," Balthazar gasped first. "The infamous Dean Winchester, son of Mary and John Winchester and brother to Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood?"

Castiel looked over at Balthazar, but Joshua's gaze was no longer focused on the rebellious and now rather curious angel. "Castiel, come with me."

"Of course, Joshua."

Balthazar looked immediately put out. "What about me? Don't I get a one-on-one with Head Honcho Angel?"

"Balthazar," Joshua spoke firmly, voice never wavering, "you will join the others in preparing for the trip."

"Goody," Balthazar muttered.

"This will be a dangerous and potentially life threatening journey so you must be completely prepared. Now go see the others and they will tell you all you need to know to survive."

Balthazar's eyes narrowed. "Where is Dean Winchester if I may ask?"

"Perdition."

Balthazar's eyes widened and met Castiel's briefly almost as if to ask "why us?" before vanishing in a thick swath of light.

"Come," Joshua murmured to the stunned angel and started walking. Castiel followed after a few reluctant moments. Questions were running rampant and untamed, questions that needed answers right now.

"Why is Dean Winchester in Perdition?"

"He made a deal with a demon to bring his brother back from the dead," Joshua replied without hesitation.

"And you think that we can retrieve him?"

Joshua ducked beneath a bowed branch of a maple tree and Castiel mimicked the movements. They were standing in another clearing. Only a few feet away stood the infamous tree of life. Joshua turned, taking the startled angel by surprise. "I think _you_ can retrieve him, Castiel."

"I don't understand," Castiel murmured, gazing anywhere but at the tree. The aroma of delicious, delectable apples was overwhelming.

"God has an unlimited amount of faith in you to retrieve the young Dean. He is strong and has been able to resist temptation thus far, but he is still human and Alastair has been using every technique and tool available to break him."

"What happens if Dean Winchester is broken?"

"The first seal will be broken and Lilith's plan will be set in motion."

Castiel swallowed hard. "What is Lilith's plan?"

Joshua's dark eyes flashed. "Lucifer's rising."

That was more than enough of an explanation for Castiel, but if all hope rested on one of God's youngest angels, the burden was overwhelming. "I understand that this is an impossible task to undertake and that you, despite your lack of expression, are terrified of failing, but these were the orders of our father, your father. You must do this. You must save the boy."

Castiel nodded. "I am a soldier; of course I will obey."

"I wish you well, and suggest that you appear human to the boy for he will not be able to communicate with the form you are in now."

"I shall," Castiel said obediently.

"Our father has reserved a special form for you, one that Dean will respond positively to. Do not be alarmed by it."

"Of course, Joshua. And tell father… I appreciate his… faith in me."

"You have the undying gratitude of all the angels. May you fare well on your journey. Good luck."

"I appreciate this. Thank you."

Castiel teleported to the gathering of angels and let out a gasp of shock upon sight of all five that now appeared in human form—even Balthazar who stood as a tall, blond rumpled looking male. He was very untidy looking even in the customary suit and tie ensemble.

"Wow! Look at the hottie," Balthazar remarked, approaching Castiel with a nod of approval. "Nice rack, Cassie!"

"Oh no," the angel gasped, gazing down horrified at the foreign body, the smooth fragile skin, the thin arms leading to small and slender fingers. "How shall I fight in this form?"

"Cassie, you are looking very good," remarked another angel. "If you pull that hair back, you might have a much easier time against the demons."

Castiel lifted her small hand to her hair and grimaced. When had she ever had to worry about such irritating features? She tugged several strands of her hair forward to survey it—long and would easily get in the way, the color of ebony and ran smoothly through her fingers. She pushed it back, and did up the buttons on her suit jacket to better conceal her… rack as Balthazar had so crudely put it, and knotted her hair up in a bun at the back of her head. "Thank you, Remiel."

All eyes were on her—at least five pairs, all different shades and colors, and she knew them all. She had fought alongside them all. These angels were her family—Balthazar, Remiel, Sansa (another angel given a female form, but this female was blond unlike her), Artemis (a large and bald male) and Greyson, another female with dark skin and even darker eyes with very little hair. That would certainly make fighting easier, she observed. She surveyed them all with a nod, trying hard not to show her apprehension. They were warriors and this was their assignment despite how impossible it seemed.

"Let's go," she commanded, her voice stable and yet a little too high-pitched for her taste, "Our father is counting on us to retrieve Dean Winchester from Perdition and we will not disappoint him."

"We are right behind you, Cassie pie," Balthazar said, grinning at her.

She ignored his smarmy comment and led the angels into the bowels of Perdition…

Dean heard the familiar sound of wind and wings, causing his heart to soar with excitement. He waited up, despite his brother insisting that he sleep. How could he sleep, knowing that closing his eyes might result in missing Castiel's visit entirely? He knew the angel to perch on the edge of his bed while he dozed and not make a sound to indicate his being there. He was being protective, and Dean could get behind that since weird things were happening ever since their first night together—a night Dean could still not remember in detail—but with those memories fading due to his limited brain, he was hoping for a refresher, despite the dangers involved.

He was startled by a soft feminine voice, breaking the silence of the motel room with four literally heart-stopping words, "We need to talk."

He rolled over to find Castiel in her female vessel sitting stiffly next to him, legs crossed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a black layered ruffle halter top. Her dark hair fell in cascading waves over her shoulders and her face—already excruciatingly beautiful—had been done up with smoky eye shadow blends, mascara and caramel lipstick that shimmered. She shimmered. She blinked her smoky eyes at him and pressed her lips into a hard line. He was suddenly seized with the type of panic that managed to drag his heart from his chest into his mouth.

Her smooth warm hands lowered to his face, taking and cradling it. "I apologize, Dean. I did not mean for that to sound so ominous."

"Those words are used only when a relationship is receiving the death sentence, Cas," he told her, swallowing hard to try and put his heart back where it belonged.

Instead of attempting to soothe his dread with words, she merely leaned down and kissed him gently yet firmly. He was breathless upon separation, gazing at her and overcome with feelings reminiscent of their first night. "I will not leave you," she reassured. "But the angels will not disclose any information regarding your sudden changes. However, I have discovered one such detail you should be aware of."

"Lay it on me," he said, feeling a lot more relaxed and carefree now that his world was not on the verge of shattering.

"The danger I assumed you to be in is no longer a concern."

"Does that have anything to do with my soul no longer bein… finite?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Then that's good news, right? We're in the clear and there can be an encore performance in the very near future?" His brimming hopefulness caused the angel to blush and laugh in unison.

"No, Dean. I think we should avoid all intimate interaction for now until we find out more about what is happening to you," she suggested.

"Seriously?" he groaned, and replaced his pillow with her lap to gaze up at her. "Come on, Cas, it's not like I'm growing horns and a tail or anything, and I haven't done any teleporting in a while."

She remained firm in her resolve even as she gently stroked her fingers through his hair, causing his scalp to tingle pleasantly. "I am protecting you. Let me do that."

"You're always doin that," he groaned, "take a break for a while."

"I can't take a break, Dean," she murmured.

"You got a couple hours to spare at least?" he asked, lifting up to face her and pressing a hand to her knee.

"I can spare an hour," she bargained.

"Good enough," he sighed, and wrapped her up in his arms to lower her with him to the pillows. They lay there in silence, his nose buried in her hair to breathe in the aroma of her, an aroma that caused his heart to expand and his stomach to clench in longing. Her halter top was loosely tied around the back of her neck and exposed most of her back, a bonus for Dean. He massaged her shoulders and kissed the smooth tanned flesh.

It was her words that doused the mood like ice water. "Where's Sam?"

Trying not to sound too hostile, he explained. "Sam decided to take a drive with your irritating ally." He groaned, but added, "I guess the only upside to this Sam-angel whatever is that I know he's safe if Balthazar's ridin shotgun."

"Yes, he is," Castiel murmured.

"However, I'm tryin very hard not to picture that dick convincing my brother to do disturbing things with him—her."

Castiel rolled over to face him, eyes intense as they pinned his. "Sam isn't a child, Dean."

"He makes stupid decisions, Cas," Dean retorted.

Castiel sighed. "I seem to recall you making more than your fair share of those as well."

Dean flushed not really expecting this response. Was he supposed to file it under sarcasm? Were they having an argument and he was just too dense to realize it? He had been fine about fighting with the angel before, especially over matters as trivial as personal space; hell, he had no problem at all cutting Castiel down every chance he got, but now… he was so terrified at the prospect of losing her that he wanted to tread carefully. He needed to consider his words and not just blurt out something he couldn't take back.

"How about we agree to disagree?" he suggested, deciding that this had to be the best course of action.

She gazed at him steadily, suspiciously. "Balthazar is my friend, Dean. She's family."

"Yeah, well, your friend messed with us—a lot! And _she_ is messing with my brother right now! No offence, Cas, but you need new friends!"

The blue of her eyes hardened and her response was stony. "No offence taken, Dean."

But she had taken offence, and without a word of warning, she was gone in a flap of wings. He wanted this to be just a hormone thing, but he knew it wasn't. He just didn't know how to keep his big trap shut. She still loved him. He could feel it as a vibration in the tether that connected them, but she would stay pissed at him for a few days at least. And, despite their love being the true kind, there was only so much bending the tether could take before it eventually broke.

She arrived in the opening of a small chamber, and in the center of that chamber was a flat stone platform raised a few feet from the floor. She had arrived broken, bleeding from gashes in her arms and legs provided by angry demons attempting to block her way. Balthazar had been lost in some remote area of this dark place, and Remiel was busy attacking more demons. They had lost two angels in the fight, both putting themselves in harm's way so that she could move swiftly onward getting that much closer to the young Dean Winchester.

There she emerged to find Dean trussed up in chains and leather binds at his wrists and ankles, a twisted smirk on his face as he lifted his eyes up to meet hers. The woman lying naked and exposed on the platform turned her head to gaze at her, whimpering a plea of "help me…"

The torture had already begun long before Castiel arrived there. The woman had lost an eye, leaving an empty socket, her cheek was torn as though some dreaded creature had attacked her, and blood flowed from a fatal wound in her neck.

"I'm so sorry," was all the angel could utter to the Hell-bound woman lying there before addressing the tormented human next. "Dean… stop this!"

Young Dean Winchester widened his grin and Castiel was surprised to see such mania in it. "Are you next?" he asked, gesturing to the stone slab.

"I'm an angel of the lord and I've come to…" she stammered to a standstill as he snatched a whip from a hook on the wall behind him and wielded it, flicking the nine tails with the agility of a pro.

"You're no angel," he snorted, and swung the whip down on the woman with such force that Castiel flinched. The woman let out a blood-curdling scream. "Angels don't exist!"

The nine tails cracked with spite and bit deep into the woman's flesh a second time. She cried out and began sobbing violently. Castiel couldn't take it. She couldn't allow the woman to be treated to any more of Dean's torture, so she took a step in front of the platform to protect the woman from yet another attack. The woman's breathing was heavy and three fingers wrapped tight around the angel's arm. Two had been torn off.

"I said stop," she demanded, her voice vibrating loud and clear within the chamber.

"Thank you… oh god… thank you," the woman whimpered.

"You need to step aside—now," Dean ordered, wielding the whip menacingly.

"I won't," Castiel argued unmoving.

"The woman you're so valiantly protecting sold her soul in exchange for wealth. She had a family and she abandoned them! If you really are an angel, you're routin for the wrong side," he added in a growl of disdain.

"I'm routing for you, Dean," she retorted, "And why did _you_ sell your soul?"

The tormented human returned the whip to its hook and turned to face Castiel, his chains rattling as he approached the platform to release the woman from her invisible bonds. "You've gotten a reprieve, but we're not finished here by a long freakin shot!"

The woman squeezed Castiel's arm tighter before escaping the platform and limping out of the chamber, leaving Dean to confront the angel. "Who are you?"

Castiel straightened before answering. "My name is Castiel."

"Well, Castiel, you've gotta be incredibly stupid to traipse in here unarmed."

"I am not… unarmed, Dean, but I do not wish to harm you. I have come to rescue you."

Dean laughed, but it was gruff and forced. Upon closer inspection, he was still carrying the scars of previous torture sessions. She had come too late. This boy had been broken long before now. And he was on his way to becoming a demon. She was surprised to find that his humanity was strained yet still intact. "You can't rescue me," Dean said, approaching her to grab her arms. "You can't do anything, can you?" he taunted, "That's really too bad for you, sweetheart." With that, he smirked and Castiel was suddenly snagged by those invisible shackles that snaked around her ankles and wrists, dragging her down to the platform.

"Do you wish to do me harm?" she asked, gazing at him calmly.

He approached the platform and glared down at her. "I wanna do more than harm," he admitted, that twisted smirk returning. "Are you scared, _Castiel_?" he taunted, pressing his scarred hands on either side of her.

"No," she replied calmly. She had relaxed in her restraints and her lack of terror puzzled and irked Dean. She could see it in his furiously working jaw. He wanted her to react to his brand of torture. She refused, but she was able to read his thoughts.

"You should be. I learned from the best."

"Tell me about… Sam," she murmured, gazing up at him without an ounce of fear to mar her features.

Dean jerked as though she had pulled on an invisible string that was attached to his heart. "What?"

"Tell me about your brother, Dean," she said again, and added, "he is the reason you are down here, isn't he?"

"Shuttup," he demanded angrily and approached the wall behind him to select a sharp, metal instrument. She had no idea what it was but could only assume it was used to shear skin. "You don't know him or me so just… shut the hell up!"

He showed her the shiny metal instrument with the serrated edge and lowered it down to her stomach. She didn't tense, not even as he unbuttoned and parted the folds of her jacket and slid her shirt up to expose her navel. "Dean," she tried again, but he was too absorbed in his work.

"This might hurt a hell of a lot so I encourage you to scream," he hissed, and pressed the cold metal to her flesh. He barely moved the instrument when he let out a gasp of disbelief in the form of an expletive and drew back, shaking his head. "What the hell?"

"Cas," Dean called as he sat at the foot of the bed, gazing at the hard oak desk and the mini fridge beneath that was almost certain to have travel bottles of JD in it. Would it really hurt to have one? He glanced around and tugged open the fridge just as a voice startled him.

"Stop right there, beefcake! You promised Cas no more drinking."

Dean straightened to find Balthazar standing in the doorway of their motel with Sam at her shoulder. She had been choosing her female vessel more and more, probably to keep Sam in check. And Sam did not seem to mind one bit. In fact, Dean was sure that Sam was actually enjoying her company a lot more than he was letting on.

"Bite me, Balthazar," Dean spat.

"She's right, Dean," Sam piped up with a shrug, resting a hand on the angel's shoulder before brushing by her into the room.

Balthazar seemed to enjoy wearing the skimpiest outfits. Today it was a denim mini skirt, strappy sandals with a six inch spike and a black halter top—and again, no bra. "No nookie for your cookie, last night?" she asked as Dean returned the tiny bottle of Jack and closed the fridge door.

"Again," he started through gritted teeth, and lifted to face her menacingly, "bite me!"

"I'd rather bite your brother, but I appreciate the offer, big boy," she replied teasingly and swatted Dean on the ass. Dean let out a loud "Jesus!" in response which encouraged a wicked laugh from the sex-starved angel. She then sauntered over to where Sam was now sitting and busy starting up his tablet, bent down low enough to reach his ear and began whispering. Sam nodded as though they weren't having some disturbing conversation that was not meant for Dean's ears.

"Don't," Sam protested softly.

"Oh come on, what harm could it possibly have on Mister 'ain't getting any' over there?" and she gestured over to Dean emphatically. He shot her a scathing look in return.

"Belle," Sam chided.

"Fine," she mumbled, and before either of the brothers could react, she pecked Sam's cheek and abruptly vanished.

Dean chose this moment to speak up. "I don't even wanna know what kind of crap she had planned to scar me for life!"

Sam said nothing just continued to browse on his tablet.

"Sam," Dean called, approaching his brother to glare down at him, "Sam, what the hell? You ignorin me now?"

Sam's head jerked up with his response. "I found something I think we should check out."

Dean furrowed his brows and bit back all of his nasty comments to focus on a potential job. "It got anything to do with the hunters gone dark side?"

"Nope," Sam replied nonchalantly, "but it does have to do with a haunted motel on the outskirts of town."

"Fine, let's jet."

The brothers packed their things and climbed into the Impala. Dean thought about stealing one of the travel size Jacks but decided against it at the last minute and climbed into the driver's side. Wanting a distraction, he shuffled through his collection of cassettes, chose AC/DC's _Ball Breaker_ and cranked the volume. Sam groaned and leaned back, but he didn't protest.

"You two have a fight?" he shouted over the music.

Dean turned the music down only enough to acknowledge his brother. "How about we don't talk about this?"

"Fighting is part of a normal healthy relationship, Dean," Sam said, irking Dean more.

"Shuttup, Sam. I said I don't wanna talk about this!"

"Dean…"

He broke. "And what part of this is normal, huh? Yeah, we fought! And yeah, it sucks! And yeah it was all because of me! You happy now? Huh?"

Sam turned down the music slowly before facing Dean, his eyes brimming with sympathy. "It was one fight, man."

"If I keep stickin my foot in it, it will be splitsville for us, Sammy! I know how to hit her right where it hurts the most! She might as well just call it quits and get out while the goings good cause I ain't getting any better. I'll always be the world's biggest douchebag!"

The impala responded with a heavy exhale of defeat and died on the shoulder. "A ghost?" Sam asked.

"No, Sam," a familiar voice spoke from the backseat.

Both brothers turned in their seats to face the impassive angel sitting there. She gazed at each of them in turn.

"Cas, did you just… kill my car… again?"

"I did, yes," she replied nonchalantly then vanished.

Sam and Dean exchanged puzzled looks, both trying to discern what was happening here. A knock on Dean's window alerted them both to the angel now standing outside. Dean put his shoulder into the door and opened it to climb out. He could feel Sam's eyes on the back of his head. He swung the door shut, and leaned back to meet Castiel's gaze with a firm one of his own.

"There are very few certainties, Dean," she started cryptically.

"There are no certainties, Cas," he cut in and crossed his arms, "At least not for me and Sammy."

She nodded slowly and stepped forward to invade his personal space. Her eyes glimmered with intermittent glimpses of the light he craved. "I have struggled with these… emotions… for years without ever understanding them, but you… you changed everything! You changed me! And that is an impossible feat. I have fought in wars as a soldier, obeying commands, making commands. I have never strayed from the book. I have never been coaxed into going against my family, my father, my friends. I have never… felt the way I do now."

She pressed her hand over his heart and held it there, forcing all the air from his lungs. "I love you, Dean; that is a certainty even if it is the only one."

He pressed his hand over hers and the whole of him relaxed in response to this touch. She was close enough to kiss and he felt the strong desire overwhelm him almost to the point of cutting her off mid-speech.

"Don't get me wrong, Dean. I know how arrogant you can be, how belligerent and insulting to be honest. But you are also selfless, devoted and exceedingly brave. You are always willing to die for others and you have saved the world with your brother on countless occasions. You gave me a reason to believe in the goodness of humanity and there is nothing more miraculous than that, especially in a world full of people so adamant on hurting and destroying one another."

Dean groaned. "Belligerent, Cas? Really?"

"Regardless," she diverted and pressed her hand to the mark on his arm, the mark she had left behind. He shivered pleasantly. "You are the light in the darkness, Dean. You have always been my light… in the darkness."

He was stunned into silence. He was _her_ light? Ironic, especially when she acted as the hero slash heroine most of the time. It was her light that saved his life on countless occasions. He wanted to ask why she thought so highly of him when he was nothing, so low on the totem pole that he was practically useless. But instead, he settled for a joke. "I guess this means you can turn me on, huh?"

Her eyes softened and warmed as she cupped his face in her hands and leaned so close that her warm breath travelled across his features, causing them to tingle in response. "You deserve to be loved, Dean," she whispered. "You really are… extraordinary and not… useless, like you think."

He chuckled nervously and couldn't think a rational thought past those eyes—and the light pulsing behind them. "I uh… I feel a little… exposed, Cas…"

"This is much easier now," she admitted, pushing in close enough for their noses to touch tip to tip. He was sweating, shivering, while his heart pounded furiously against his ribcage.

"What is?" he whispered, but he didn't have a chance to inhale before her lips found his. He had never surrendered into a kiss before, but this was Cas and she was unlike anyone else. Her kiss set off fireworks in his brain while also revealing whole constellations to him.

"Dean," she murmured, stroking his cheeks up and down, fingers travelling up and through his hair. "Dean, it's alright."

He felt their lips separate just as a moment of confusion flooded his brain. Why was she trying to reassure him? Why the sudden concern? And it wasn't until he felt the ache in his arms that he realized how tight he was holding her. She kissed him again and clasped her arms around his neck to rest her cheek on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he blurted into her hair. "I'm a douchebag and I'm sorry. Balthazar's not all bad and he… I mean… _she_ has been nothin but loyal to you."

Castiel gripped the back of his jacket and clenched the thick material between her fingers. "I have been… emotional… and I can only assume it is because of Audrey's child. I cannot blame you for your hostility towards Balthazar when it is rightly deserved."

He sighed. "Well, I could've been less of a dick about it."

She eased back to gaze at him, tracing his cheek with the tip of her finger. "I think… I can trust that you are no longer in harm's way…"

Dean's heart performed cartwheels in his chest. "Cas?"

Her eyes lifted almost shyly, catching Dean off guard. "I have work to do and so do you. I can see that Sam is getting restless. Did you know that he started biting his nails?"

"You're killing me here," he sighed heavily, stifling a laugh of nervous excitement.

"I shall return soon, Dean," she whispered and squeezed his marked arm, causing his entire body to jolt as though he had been struck by lightning.

He continued to stare even when she was no longer standing there. He was caught in a daze and unable to shake it. His arm tingled. His heart continued the acrobatics. And his mind raced with possibilities. Now, the wait would be a lot more torturous, he realized.

A knock on the window of his Impala jerked him from his thoughts and he turned to see Sam glaring at him. "Are we going or what?"

Dean climbed into the car but was unable to put away his stupid grin. If Sam hadn't been sitting right next to him, he might have giggled. With one last look at Sam, he gunned the engine and headed in the direction of the haunted motel.

Dean was forced to park on the street several blocks from the motel since the lot was packed. "You sure this place is haunted?" Dean asked his brother who looked about as skeptical as he did.

"Maybe it's the main attraction here," Sam responded.

They both gazed up at a tall brick building that looked as though it had been recently renovated. "I think someone might be yankin your chain," Dean said.

"We should check it out, anyway."

Dean followed his brother through a set of revolving doors into a warmly lit lobby. There were sofas and chairs for the guests, friendly staff working the desk up front and several of the guests were dressed in expensive attire. "This ain't no motel," Dean commented under his breath, "and it don't look haunted."

Sam ignored him and approached the desk, adopting his most professional demeanour to ask the receptionist those familiar questions that came with being a hunter. Any strange smells? Weird noises? Scratching in the walls? Cold spots?

The receptionist looked puzzled until Dean approached to grab his brother's arm forcefully. "Sorry, sweetheart, my brother is not… all there if you get my drift." He pushed Sam as far from the receptionist as possible before confronting him. "Obviously someone handed you crap on a plate so who was it?"

"It was me," spoke a voice only recognizable once Dean had sorted through his memories. He glanced over Sam's shoulder to see a young girl standing there in blue jeans and a ruffled white blouse. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her expression echoed her father's to a tee.

"Does your dad know you're here?" Dean asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously. Sam turned to acknowledge her with a nod, trying to conceal his shock at seeing her again.

She narrowed her blue eyes and folded her thin arms across her chest. "He knows I'm hunting," she replied curtly.

"Jesse with you?" Sam put in.

The girl blushed. "You two need to come with me," she said, and turned to lope back in the direction of the elevators.

"Jimmy ain't gonna be happy about this, man," Dean hissed under his breath to Sam who nodded.

A breathy voice brimming with relief met them as the elevator doors rolled open. "Claire… you know you can't just go running off without me. Your dad would flip." She was tugged into a kiss just as Dean and Sam stepped out.

"Good to see you again, Jesse," Sam greeted, mouth twitching as though unsure how to diffuse this awkward situation. Dean looked away from the couple in order to regain his bearings as well. The craving for his angel niggled at him at every moment so watching a couple of teenagers get touchy feely with one another did not help, especially since he was desperately trying to keep his grin under control around Sam.

The kiss was separated by Claire who then turned to gesture at the two shifty hunters. "They can help them, Jesse," she whispered. "They know what's going on and they will be able to help."

Jesse nodded and motioned for them all to follow him into a small motel room at the end of the hall. Sitting at the foot of the bed were two women—one was middle-aged with a puff of reddish brown hair, dark eyes and a grim expression, and beside her was a younger woman, perhaps in her late twenties with caramel hair that fell in long waves down her back and intense brown eyes. She wore an off the shoulder netted halter with tight blue jeans while the woman with her chose ill-fitting jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. She glared from one to the other then turned to whisper in her friend's ear.

"Those two are the Winchesters," the young one spoke up, getting to her feet. "They are notorious for their hunting techniques."

"You victims?" Dean asked, staring at her so hard that she winced.

"You can say that," she replied, exchanging glances with Claire.

"I'm not saying that until I know for sure," Dean snapped now.

The older of the two joined her friend. "We're not human if that's the detail you're fishing for. But we are victims."

"Demons?" Sam guessed.

"We are… creatures," the young one spoke up, "And we're being hunted."

Dean exchanged glances with Sam unsure how to broach this conflict objectively. They were hunters. They were taught to kill what wasn't human. He had killed the Mother of All and nearly lost Castiel to a whole host of Purgatory souls- monsters. How could he not hate them? "Sorry, but we can't help you…"

Sam interrupted. "Wait, Dean, come on!" He gazed empathetically to each of the monsters before asking in his calm and very Sam-like manner, "What do you want us to do?"

"Take us in," the young one replied, looping her arm through her friend's, "If we remain with you, the hunters won't think twice."

"You want us to provide witness protection for monsters?" Dean snorted.

"It's better than the alternative, which is exactly what we're trying to avoid!"

"And what's the alternative?"

Sam spoke the answer before either of the monsters could. "Killing the hunters, Dean."

"Yes," the young one spoke, nodding at Sam. "We have lived among humans for as long as we've been alive, and we have done so peacefully. It's only now that hunters are rising up and killing whatever creature or demon they can find. The Salem witch trials have started again in every state across the country. California is rife with them."

In response, Claire stepped into the circle of Jesse's arms and clasped hers around his neck. Dean suddenly understood why she wanted to help the two refugees. Jesse was a good guy despite being cursed as the spawn of a malicious demon. Now, he was just a teenage boy, a hunter and he did not deserve to be burned at the stake.

"Dean, we've gotta do something. We've gotta help them," Sam said, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Fine, we'll help," he muttered. "But you may as well have painted a bull's eye on your backs because we ain't exactly free and clear, either."

"So we've heard," Jesse remarked, and gestured for Dean to follow him out of the room. Dean exchanged glances of bewilderment with Sam before slipping out into the hall and keeping the door ajar just in case Jesse decided to switch sides. He stood stiffly for a moment then added in a quieter voice, "I'll do what I can to shield your thoughts but I can't make any promises."

Dean glanced back at the door uneasily. "What the hell are you talking about? Why would you need to do that?"

Jesse pressed his mouth into a taut line. "They can read minds, Dean, and if you're not careful, they'll read all about your… infinite soul."

"Jesus," Dean cursed, and pulled the door closed in a gut reaction. "They tell you that?"

"No, they read Claire's mind. They knew she was sympathetic towards those monsters and demons being hunted; unfortunately, I can't tell if they are manipulating her into helping them or if they are sincere in their claims."

"So in other words, we might be dealin with two deceiving bitches who would sooner eat us than help us," Dean muttered.

"Like I said, Dean, I can't tell. They seem sincere enough."

"Well, it's not like they could manipulate you, Jesse. You're one up on the angels so…"

"It's not me I'm worried about, Dean," Jesse interrupted, panic infused into his tone now, "it's her—Claire. She's only doing this because of me, because I'm one of them—a monster."

"I have an idea," Dean said, wanting to be certain their two supposed refugees were on the up and up. He closed his eyes and accessed the tether.

_Hey, Cas, hope you're not busy. We've got something big goin on down here and we could really use some of your archangel assist._

Castiel arrived directly behind Dean's shoulder, startling Jessie, but not by her abrupt arrival but by her choice of vessel. "Castiel?"

"It is… good to see you again… Jesse," she stammered. Dean understood her hesitation. The last time she had seen the demon's spawn, she was on the verge of killing him.

"Yeah," he muttered, "You… too…"

Dean found her hand and strangled her fingers with his. "Wait here," she whispered with her chin rested on his shoulder then vanished in a flap of wings.

"_You_ two?" Jesse mouthed in disbelief.

"You'll get used to it," Dean said, not at all surprised to find Castiel standing in front of the door seconds after she had vanished from sight. "What do you think, Cas? Huh? They upstanding citizens?"

"They are born of the Mother, but their species is unfamiliar to me. However, I am thoroughly convinced that they are not trying to deceive you. They really are… running from hunters even though they are innocent."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said and flashed her a genuine smile. She returned that smile with one of her own; then… she was gone.

"What are you?" he demanded, stepping back from the stone platform, his chains rattling with each laboured step. "_What are you_?"

She gazed over at him before looking down at the soft glow that was now escaping the small incision across her abdomen. "I told you, Dean; I'm an angel of the lord. I wasn't lying to you."

"You're full of crap," he spat at her, rage brewing in and around his eyes. "You don't know me or Sam, understand? So just shut your mouth!"

Castiel released herself from the bonds and sat upright on the platform to gaze at him. "His name is Sam?"

"Shut up!" Dean bellowed.

"I am here to release you," she murmured, sliding down off the platform to approach him, but he had built a wall around himself, one so high and thick even she had difficulty penetrating it. "Tell me about your brother, Dean," she insisted, broaching his personal space, "tell me about… Sammy…"

She could read Dean's thoughts and found that Sam was in fact the wall he had built around himself. "Don't call him that," Dean choked, but the anger was fading leaving behind only sadness and grief.

"You call him that," she said gently. He was fragile and she had to treat him as such.

His eyes met hers—green and gold like sunshine across fresh grown grass. Sam was his humanity, the reason he was here and the reason he thought he did not deserve to leave. There was a spark of hopefulness in his tone, however. "What do you mean release me?"

"I have come to return you to your Sammy."

"You can't do that," he choked. "No one can do that."

"I assure you I can," she promised.

A voice sneered from behind her. "Are you prepared to fight for him?"

She rounded on whom she knew as the master of torture, Alastair. Word spread like wildfire about his techniques and how he took great pleasure in breaking the most genuine of souls, twisting them until they were eventually stripped of their humanity, until they had become full-fledged demons. "I am," she spoke firmly in a voice so absolute even she herself shivered from it.

"Are you prepared to die for him?" Alastair hissed. He was visible to Dean in a human form—an older man with dark red hair and piercing green eyes, but to her, he was something much more menacing—a dark, twisted and dangerous creature with cruel yellow eyes and scales and a face so mangled it no longer looked like a face.

"I am," she confirmed louder and cast a sideways glance to the stunned human.

"Then let's dance, Angel," Alastair taunted, lurching forward to wrap his hands around her throat.

Dean was introduced to both Erica Shelby and Betty Wordsworth. Erica was shy and soft-spoken, but Betty was the polar opposite. She spoke whatever was on her mind without thinking twice about it.

"Friend of yours?" Dean asked Erica as they exited the motel.

She glanced over at him and donned a smile that was at once pleasing and coaxing. "She saved my life back in California."

"How?" he asked.

"She… rescued me from a public execution."

Dean glanced back at Betty with a bemused expression. "Really?"

Betty was busy commenting Sam on his height. "Can I call you bigfoot? And what's with the forehead, huh?" He simply scowled down at her and kept his argument at bay for now.

"Dean," Erica called, tugging on his arm.

He stopped just outside the doors of the motel to find himself in front of a red pick-up truck and two familiar faces. "Good to see you're still alive, idgit," Bobby remarked, looking from his face to Sam's.

"Oh, I like him," Betty announced and pushed past Dean to approach the older hunter, punching him hard on the shoulder. He winced and massaged the soon-to-be bruise.

"Claire," Jimmy exclaimed, rushing forward to take his daughter into his arms. "Oh my god," he sighed.

"I'm okay, Dad," she murmured into his shoulder.

"What's going on, Bobby? And when did you become a truck driving hick?" Dean asked.

Bobby's voice was worn, tired, but full of adrenaline. "I stole it from one of the rogue hunters," he explained then approached the bed of the truck with both Dean and Sam following him practically bursting with curiosity. "Along with this." He gestured to the small space covered by a navy tarp and tugged it back. Dean had to lean up to see what Bobby had just pointed out. The bed of this truck was not empty but occupied by humans, all crouching to remain out of sight.

"Refugees," Sam spoke up, stepping back to assess the older hunter.

"About to be burned at the stake, and there's more where that came from. It's happening all over the place—persecution of every kind. You name it, those dumb bastard hunters are doin it."

Dean tugged the hunter as far from the truck as possible before voicing his concerns. "How can you be sure those… monsters aren't… well… monsters?"

Bobby shrugged. "I can't. But I can't let 'em all burn just because they happen to be different. We hunt evil and I get behind the reasons why, but this… I can't get behind this. This ain't what hunters are about."

"I agree, Bobby," Sam chimed, glancing at Dean for mutual agreement.

"They're monsters, man," Dean hissed, "this is the friggin worst idea we've ever had! We are literally throwing ourselves into the lion's den where there's a ninety percent chance we'll all get eaten alive!"

Erica approached, looking from one hunter to the other. "Let me help."

Betty's voice rang through the silence. "Just to let you know, she's more of a saint than I am!"

"How do you wanna help?" Bobby asked.

Erica smiled. "I have a very special gift, Bobby Singer. It should not take me long to discover each of the refugee's true intentions." She brushed by him and he blushed several shades of pink.

"You know that's cradle robbing, right?" Dean said, compelling Sam to snort with laughter he could no longer withhold.

"Shuttup," mumbled the older hunter. "What's her gift, anyway?"

"She can read minds," Sam replied.

They all turned to watch as the seemingly limber mind-reader climbed into the bed of the truck in order to work her magic on the refugees. Jimmy approached to watch as well, and even though they could not exactly see or hear what was going on, they continued to stare. A few minutes later, she emerged, striding towards them all with a completely stoic expression.

"Two of your refugees were soldiers that had been honourably discharged, one is a kindergarten teacher, two are brothers that have lost a sister to tragic circumstances, and five are under eighteen. Not one of them have killed innocents and not one of them ever intend to."

"And we just take your word on that, huh?" Dean snapped, "You're one of them!"

"I have never taken a life," she murmured. "And I know what I am, but I also know that a part of me is human and I just want to live a normal life out of the hunter spotlight."

Dean made a noise of defeat in his throat. "This feels… just… backwards."

She was facing Jimmy now, their eyes level as her hand landed gently on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your wife, James." With that, she walked over to Betty and the two climbed into the back of the truck to join the other refugees.

"What about your wife?" Dean asked, glancing at Jimmy with curious and suspicious eyes now. "I thought you two were… hittin it off."

"Cas really needs to stop narrating my life to you," he muttered, "Look, we're fine, I'm fine. And we should get going."

"Perfect, everybody pile in," Bobby instructed, approaching the truck to tug open the passenger's side door. "Won't be enough room for everyone so some of ya might have to join our run-aways in the back."

Jimmy and Jesse chose to ride in the back while Claire joined Bobby up front and buckled her seatbelt.

"Where we headed, Bobby?" Dean asked, casting a furtive glance at the tarp now concealing all their refugees.

"I have a few places in mind, so how about we leave it at that for safety's sake, huh?"

"Fine, we'll be right behind you."

Dean tailgated Bobby down a highway then over a bridge then down a long, unlit, dirt road. Where were they headed? He was surprised to find that the truck was turning again and the bright headlights cast a glow across an open cast-iron gate. Dean followed Bobby through until they arrived in front of a two-car garage. Both Sam and Dean were sitting upright now, gazing at their new digs. Something about this place seemed familiar to Dean.

"Since when does Bobby own the playboy mansion?" he blurted. Sam only shrugged with his eyes glued to the garage door that was now rolling up, giving them access. As soon as Dean had parked next to the stolen truck, he got out to confront his friend.

"What is this?"

"There's a guesthouse on the other side," Bobby said, opening the passenger's side door for Claire to climb out. His eyes returned to Dean's. "Let's just say my ex-girlfriend from Purgatory was livin the high life."

"And she willed her estate to you?" Sam asked just as mystified as Dean. Now Dean remembered when he had last come here—before Castiel tried to usurp God and him and Sam were up against dragons. Dragons of all things! He needed a sword, and this woman, this ex of Bobby's had one.

"We had a special connection," Bobby said and pressed a button on his fob (something he had never owned before), allowing the garage door to close. "Well, welcome home boys!"

Dean and Sam were unable to admire their new home what with having to help Bobby sort out their refugee situation. "There are freakin wings here, dude," Sam hissed in his excitement as he raced down a spiral staircase to meet Dean at the very bottom. "I was just in the South Wing and man… it's huge! Who needs a place like this?"

"Apparently, a very wealthy professor slash monster," Dean replied. "You takin a wing?"

Sam laughed. "This is crazy! Bobby and that professor must've been really close for him to swing this."

"I don't even wanna know the details."

"Is everyone situated?" Bobby asked from somewhere in the estate. Dean thought about playing Marco Polo seeing as it may have been the easiest way to find the older hunter or anyone for that matter.

"The teenagers are in the guesthouse and the mind-readers are upstairs in the… south wing," Sam said, swallowing hard.

"Claire and Jimmy are having a father-daughter chat outside and yeah… everyone's where they should be for now," Dean added. Bobby emerged out of a room on their right and nodded.

"Good. Now you two get some sleep. We got a lot of crap to figure out and we can't do it if we're half dead." Dean wasn't tired but appeased Bobby with a nod. If anyone needed sleep it was him. Dean thought about interrogating him, but decided to let the old get a few hours in before he went up one side and down the other. How did he get out of that hunter's circle unharmed? And what exactly did he have to do in order to escape with a truck and a load of refugees? All questions for the morning.

"Yeah, so…" Sam started leaning back on his heels, "I'm gonna do a little snooping in here. Wanna join?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, "but uh… go ahead without me. I'll marco polo you if I can't find you, alright?"

"Or you could text?" Sam said with a snicker.

"Just go, bigfoot."

Dean climbed the staircase and travelled North down a long corridor. After several minutes of pushing doors open and peeking in, he finally found a bathroom. He stepped in, switched on a light and was struck dumb by the size of this room—big enough to be another bedroom with two long marble counters, a stretch of mirrors above the two sinks, a Jacuzzi tub, a large shower with sliding glass doors and room enough to fit at least six other people comfortably. Itching with relief, he shed his clothes on the floor, turned on the shower and climbed in. The water scalded his skin and he welcomed it with a pleased gurgle. He washed and dried and smelled a lot more feminine than he was used to, but that did not matter. He was content. He was clean and he was ready to do a thorough investigation of the house that once belonged to a Purgatory monster. Still wrapped up in his towel, he was just about to start dressing when two bright blue eyes met with his in the mirror.

"Jesus Cas! What the hell?" He exclaimed, straightening to round on her.

She gazed at him, her demeanour almost cold. "It is nothing I have not seen before," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that slightly irked him.

"You just droppin in to say hi or…"

Without a word or even a hint as to what she was going to do next, she pinned him to the counter and kissed him fervently, taking his breath away as she parted. "You might not remember," she panted, taking his hand to lace their fingers.

"Remembering is overrated," he breathed and led her out of the bathroom and back down the corridor…

"Cas!" Dean shouted but had not moved from his spot. He was human and was therefore helpless to stop Alastair from killing her, but the panic in his voice moved her enough to smile despite the circumstances.

She allowed the energy to build in her palm before thrusting it back into Alastair's chest. He struck the wall with such an impact that blood drooled from his mouth to pool on the floor.

"Dean… we must go," she gasped and the wide-eyed youth nodded slowly.

"Not so fast there, cupcake." Alastair's voice was taunting and maniacal as he lifted to his feet. She let out a gasp to the blade now dangling from his fingers—her blade, the blade used to kill all angels, but was also apt for killing demons as superior as Alastair. "I can only assume you want this back."

How could she not stop to think that he would find some way to steal the blade from her? Alastair twirled it expertly in his fingers, grabbing tight around her waist and bringing the blade inches from the flesh of her neck. "Dean Winchester is in transition, my dear Cassie. He can't come out and play right now."

"Sam," she choked, eyeing the blade as though challenging it.

"Sam?" Alastair laughed cruelly, "What about him?"

"He's the reason Dean has not completed the transition. He's the reason all your attempts will fail!"

"Really?" he snorted. "Dean has already been _whipped_ into shape, if you get my drift, so you are wrong about that; I just need more time."

"Sam keeps him human, Alastair."

"Not if I make him forget," Alastair hissed, touching the point of the blade to her throat.

"You know that's impossible," she said, inching back from the blade as far as she could. "Take a look inside him now. Sam is there. His essence is permanent which means that Dean… will never transition."

"I guess only time will tell, won't it," the torture master growled. "However, your time is up!" She shut her eyes, a gut reaction to impending death, but the blade did not penetrate her skin; instead she heard a loud crack and the clatter of steel on stone. "Bad boy, Dean!"

Dean gripped tight to the cat o' nine-tails and grinned fiercely. "You're kind of screwed now."

Castiel chose this opportunity to thrust her elbow into Alastair's face before emitting a blast wave of light straight into his chest with enough impact to chuck him across the stone floor and out of the room. She raced to the blade, shoved it inside her now torn suit jacket and grabbed Dean's arm. "He won't be gone long so we must go now!"

He gazed at her, trying to figure her out with just the power of a stare. "I uh… I think I owe you… for this."

"I must warn you that your arrival will be very unpleasant," she said, gripping his arm even tighter.

"You wanna loosen up a bit, you might leave a mark," he said half-jokingly.

"Close your eyes," she ordered. "Now, Dean!"

He did so. "Will I see you again at least? Maybe I can thank you properly once I'm vertical?"

"You will not remember me, Dean, and as for seeing me again, I highly doubt it."

"Why me? Why not some other poor sap down here? God knows it's my fault so why haul me out, huh?"

"I was not given the details, just the task. I can only imagine that you are… important… to the bigger picture."

Alastair burst back into the room, "You're too late, angels! Your boy will never be the same again! Dean Winchester's damage is permanent!"

He was just about to attack when his eyes rolled back and he choked.

"Down boy! That's a good torture master," taunted a voice Castiel knew well. She looked up to see Balthazar in the entryway, grinning and glowing as he put all his energy into keeping Alastair immobile. "Good to see you again, Cassie."

"Where are the others?" she gasped, ignoring the snarling look on Alastair's face.

"Remiel and Sansa are gone. I'll give you the scoop later, but you need to go right now. I can't hold onto this bastard for too much longer."

Castiel nodded, brimming with gratitude for her friend, her comrade, her brother. "Thank you… I owe you for this."

"Yes you do, but we'll talk payment later, too. Go! Joshua is waiting!"

Castiel gazed at Dean and closed her eyes. "Cas?" Dean started, opening one eye, "I don't really wanna forget."

Balthazar laughed as Castiel struggled to think of an empathetic response in order to comfort Dean. Instead, Balthazar piped up. "Trust me that this is the last thing you wanna remember, sweetie. Besides, remembering is overrated."

"Balthazar's right, Dean" she agreed softly. Of course remembering was overrated because she was forced to remember this moment and those green eyes shadowed by torment and pain. She secretly hoped that she would never see those eyes again, and yet… a part of her wanted to. Deciding to push her conflicting emotions for a human aside, she turned her eyes skyward, and in a swish of wind and wings, they were gone.


End file.
